HORACE IN LONDON.
TO THE COUNTY COUNCIL. (AD REMPUBLICAM.)
New vessel, now returning ship
From this thy tried and trial trip,
Refit in dock awhile: I fear
Your ballast looks a trifle queer.
Your rigging ("rigging" is a word
By other folk than seamen heard)
Has got a little loose; you need
An overhaul, you do indeed.
Your sails (or purchases?) should stay
The stress—and Press—that on them weigh:
This constant playing to the gods
Will scarcely weather blustering odds.
In vain to blazon "London's Heart"
As figure-head, if thus you part
Unseaworthy; in vain to boast
Your "boom"—a cranky boom at most.
We rate you, we who pay your rates:
Beware the overhauling fates,
Beware lest down you go at last
The sport and puppet of the blast.
I always voted you a bore,
But never quite so much before
Besought you with a frugal mind
To sail not quite so near the wind.
MRS. R. AGAIN.—To our excellent old lady, being convalescent, her niece was reading the news. She commenced about the County Council, the first item in the report being headed, "An Articulated Skeleton." "Ah!" interrupted the good lady, "murder will out! And where did they find the skeleton of the Articulated Clerk?"
